Demon Seeds

This novella is intended for adult readers only. The content is sexually explicit and intended for mature readers (18+).

Intro

The year is 2058 and our beloved planet earth has had numerous alien invasions; most of them covert and undetected by mankind, dating back beyond prehistory to the very birth of the planet. Our story begins after the most recent of these alien invasions, this one by far the strangest...an interstellar plant.

In some galaxies, the shipping lanes move slower than others, and when a planet being teraformed misses its food shipment, that only occurs once every five years, entire colonies would perish from starvation.

Used throughout the universe by planetary teraformers, these plants are designed to connect to the bodies of the settlers and help preserve their lives in these bad times. The first generations of these plants were basic plant concepts that would turn the settler's skin green with chloroplasts, enabling them to get their necessary nutrients from sunlight.

The developers of the plant augments made some mistakes in the first batches. The plants did what they were supposed to with perfect precision. Aside from turning green, some settlers even grew leaves from the top of their backs and shoulders. The big flaw in the design was that nobody accounted for the human psyche. Without food and the normal humanoid daily rituals, insanity would set sometimes resulting in mass suicides.

The correction for this problem was a plant that bonded to the sex organs of the humanoid creatures. Females would grow penises and males would receive penis enhancements. Since these plant augments shared the DNA of their hosts, they would give the settlers a supply of natural dopamine designed specifically for their bodies.

Seedpods of these plants were sent to developing planets in the form of meteors that would explode on impact, sending these seeds high and far, covering the landscape to make them accessible for all.

In the year 2047, five of these seed pods found their way to earth. The humanoid inhabitants of this planet had no idea that there was any life in the universe other than their own. That is to say, up until the day of the meteor-seed pod shower.

The first interstellar life to come to earth panned out much as was to be expected. The furrowed brows of government and religious leaders brought paranoia and fear from this unknown new arrival.

First contact was at the approach of earth's orbit. They were seen to follow no intelligent path and they were too small to be of any significance. Once the supposed meteors hit earth's atmosphere, the seedpods were designed to withstand high levels of heat and did not reduce in size and burn up as most meteors do. Seeing the five large astral bodies plummeting toward the surface of the earth, all hell broke loose at the Pentagon and other such fraternities around the globe. The first landed in Brisbane, Queensland and the next 4 dropped over the African continent.

What earth's inhabitants did not know; the seed pods were common, but not for planets like earth. The big question; why would someone send plant seeds for terraforming settler to a planet that already had lush vegetation and a breathable atmosphere?

World leaders worked together tirelessly to collect all of the seeds that had exploded out of the pods. Containment teams were dispatched to try and establish some form of perimeter...It was a futile attempt. At the five impact areas, countless seeds, half the size of a grain of rice, shot miles into the air and spread over the globe, as they were designed to do.

Religions around the world with their 'Sex is not for pleasure' doctrines condemned these evil things and forbade anyone from using them. They laid claim to the idea that since these plants were not of this earth, they were not intended for mankind. The popular religious belief was; it was most likely demonic possession that would occur if you bonded with a sexual enhancement plant seed.

Doctors quickly realized that the plant bonding process was irreversible but having a plant augment made it nearly impossible to get an STD. The plant augments were just not susceptible to human viruses. The astral seed phenomenon had almost cured Africa of the AIDS virus. Directly after the spread of the seeds was a complete loss of sexual inhibitions. The increased levels pheromones that the plants produced with their human hosts were far stronger than the standard human version. Entire city blocks and townships were consumed in mass orgies.

Once this "demonic plague" went public, it created a panic among earth's religious communities. It was unanimously decided by them that this was the work of the devil which inadvertently gave birth to certain secret societies. Christian groups began paying soldiers of fortune to hunt down and kill people that had bonded with the astral seeds. All of which happened covertly through a double blind system to keep the religious officials from ever being implicated.

By 2056AD the world had leveled off into a strange, sexually lethal cold war. Having a plant augment was something people kept to themselves even if it was fairly common.

Death by religious execution was also fairly common.

Love of Plants

It was a cool September morning. The autumn maple leaves blew aimlessly down the cobblestone sidewalks glancing off the occasional Victorian street lamp far below. Samara sipped at her coffee. It had just the right amount of sugar and cream. A gust of wind caught a piece of her black silk hair, pulling it in front of her face. Mindlessly she hooked the bit of hair with her ring finger and gently raked it back down behind her ear. She had started a decent romance novel from a would-be author. The book wasn't helping and she was feeling anxious and distracted. The phone call she had made the day before yesterday set an appointment for today that should have started twenty minutes ago. The whole thing had her fidgeting and unable to focus...she should have been here by now. Samara felt her pulse rise at the realization. The book she had been reading was supposed to take her mind off this risky transaction but her anxiety had begun to escalate out of control. She found herself feeling desperate and panicked. A self manifested tide of fear washed over her. Her face flushed and she could sit still no longer.

With a quick and almost fearful motion, Samara snapped the book closed and leaped upright. She found herself looking over the edge of the balcony. Her hair worked itself loose and began blowing with the wind in all directions. It seemed to taunt her with its lash and tickle. Samara's right hand held the folded book tight to her chest and her left hand gripped the wrought iron railing. She leaned forward peering downward to the street below. Fifty stories down, cars moved slowly in uniform patterns. From her distant perspective people walked as if they were characters in a Norman Rockwell painting. Her area of the city was beautiful but none of that would matter if the authorities found out what she was up to. The seed dealer was late and that was never a good thing to do to someone who was as punctual as Samara. The dealer's name was Claire and this "Claire" was late. If this woman was found by the authorities, would she name her? She couldn't afford to think like this. It finally boiled to the surface.

"Where the hell are you Claire?" Samara said absently as if her voice would somehow leave the edge of the building and find its target.

What she was about to do would change her life forever. Even the $100,000 price tag did not give her pause. It was the process of metamorphosis that filled her with fear and intrigue.

The people below would go on about their lives regardless of how her day transpired. There was a part of Samara that wanted to escape but she had to do this and she knew it. She had run the list of possible scenarios through her head multiple times, weighing the options again and again. She knew there was only one answer that would give her peace of mind.

She owned the entire top floor of this building. The balcony she stood on formed a large U shape that wrapped the walled interior of the penthouse. Tan travertine stone covered the floor and continued in through the living room and ended at the main entrance. There was a thin metal track that rounded outward from the living room with the apex in the middle of the balcony but there was no exterior wall to the living room; the travertine stone of the living room extended seamlessly to the balcony at the moment.

Samara turned away from the edge and took two steps. Her penthouse was beautiful but she stopped to look at the large square flower pots. They were four feet wide with inset bases and recessed track lighting. They gave the illusion the pots were hovering in place supported only by light. She glanced at the purple and gold flowers inside them. She loved her chrysanthemums for their look and for their history. They were first cultivated in China in the fifteenth century BC as an herb. It was a combination of two Greek words; chrysos (gold) and anthemon (flower)...Samara paused murmuring to herself, "What a very odd thing to remember."

She walked quickly across the travertine stone floor to return to her living room. The air had a bit of a nip to this morning. As Samara passed the thin metal track in the stone floor, she waved her hand over a spot on the interior wall. It lit up with a slight glow beneath her hand that quickly faded again. The quiet hum of a very expensive electric motor kicked on and a rounded twelve foot tall piece of glass that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, began gliding along the track separating the inside of the house from the balcony. The glass door slid out of a hidden pocket from the library wall, moving silently into view until the glass clicked against the kitchen wall. Samara's ears popped as the interior of the house pressurized.

Gliding gracefully to the bookshelf, she found the hole in the section she had pulled her book from earlier and slid it back into place. She was afraid this meeting could go horribly wrong. Her hands were clutching to her midsection fiddling with the white sequins of her dress. Becoming conscious of how neurotic her behavior was, she brushed her hands together and forced them down to her sides. "Stop it Samara. You're just being silly." She muttered to herself under her breath.

There came a buzz from the intercom. Instinctively she walked to it and pressed the talk button. "Yes who is it?" The answer came back,

"Hello Samara its Claire...may I come up?"

"Well it's about damn time." Samara murmured under her breath. Reluctantly she pressed the latch button to buzz the gate. "Too late to turn back now," Samara thought. She loved this building for being such a classic. It was older than most buildings in this area but it was extremely well built for its time. Year ago she had researched the blueprints and the building designs, looking for a good investment. The door buzzer was an old analog system but it worked fine for her needs. This was a good area and the building had few incidences. She didn't need high end security, this was a great neighborhood.

A knock on the door startled her. How long had she been standing there lost in thought? Apparently long enough for this Claire to make the trip up the elevator. She walked over and unlocked the deadbolt, then unlatched the chain. Pulling at the forged iron colonial style door handle, the large hand crafted wooden door swung open. Claire stood looking about as uncomfortable as Samara felt. Oddly this gave her a sense of relief. Claire was a woman probably 30ish with very handsome features. She had solid cheek and jaw bones with freckles and strawberry blond hair. She was wearing a navy blue pleated skirt with a matching suit coat and white blouse. Samara's eyes panned down to the woman's firm muscled legs. She wore white stockings, and sensible black shoes; she was a very professional looking woman.

Samara definitely liked the outfit but the metal wrapped briefcase Claire was holding had an ominous look to it that brought your mind directly back to business. It was a very modern briefcase with flat black panels wrapped in brushed metal edge work. All pieces were apparently jointed together by solid metal rivets with additional visible weld marks. It seemed the mechanical engineer had gone out of his way to make appear over the top industrial. There was a large lanyard loop firmly welded behind the handle with a galvanized steel chain handcuffed to Claire's wrist.

Samara looked down at the briefcase. Her left eyebrow moved upward as she realized the absurdity of the design. What was the point of all that? She thought to herself. Making something secure and stealthy would be a smoother delivery method. She realized she'd been staring at the briefcase for a little too long to be considered polite. Samara blinked a few times quickly returning her eyes to Claire's.

Samara gestured with her hand politely and spoke, "Please come in Claire. Would you care for a cup of coffee?"

Her heart raced a little. Did she know this woman? She seemed so familiar to her. She shook her head dismissing the absurd notion.

Claire walked inside the penthouse looking around at the wood paneled walls and the large intricate crown molding. A mini grand piano sat in the corner of the antechamber.

Samara also sensed it. Who was this Claire and where had she seen her before? She quickly blamed the crazy notion on the hospital phenomenon; as a doctor I've probably seen her as an inpatient or an inpatient visitor. She was nervous with her new guest and shot out a question that came out more like a random sentence fragment, "French press?" Samara blurted.

"I'm sorry what?" Claire responded confused.

Samara gestured to the kitchen, "The coffee dear, I use a French press. Some people don't care for the strength of it." She felt her stomach knot up. How stupid did she seem to this girl?

"Oh preferred actually, that would be lovely thank you." Claire said nodding.

"Make yourself at home I'll just be a moment." Samara turned and walked toward the kitchen gesturing to a pair of white Enea Café Stools and a small round white table that stood between them. The cute little café set looked perfectly framed against the window. "Cream and sugar?" Samara called out as she walked away.

"Yes of course," Claire answered.

"I'll just be a moment."

As Samara walked into the kitchen, Claire looked her up and down quickly. Samara was a beautiful woman, about 5' 8" wearing a tight backless white dress that fell mid-thigh with white Ferragamo pumps and straight black hair that moved like silk. Her waist was proportionately small and her build was athletic but very smooth and ladylike. Claire took in every inch of her body and with good reason as well as pleasure. Aside from the obvious admiration of Samara's form, there were a lot of wackjob lunatics running around out there and they all seemed to flock to Seedco sales reps. Claire's training was better than most. She'd spent some time in the military and she knew how to size people up long before this job. Occasionally someone would try to separate her from her briefcase and she'd have to use those skills but that was not the tone of this beautiful morning. Claire felt rested and easy in Samara's presence. The girl was obviously not hiding a firearm or blade in her dress. She also had a gut instinct that was rarely wrong about people, which was another element that made her well suited for this job.

Looking about the room Claire walked toward the café stools, moving quiet and graceful. As she passed the kitchen, she spotted Samara stirring the coffee grounds and boiling water in the French press. The woman's movements were slow and meticulous. The kitchen surrounding Samara was spotless aside from her current coffee project. The smell of the rich, fresh coffee filled Claire's nose. She breathed in deeply feeling blissful from the robust musky aroma. Exhaling slowly, her eyes wandered the room. Her eyes took in the bookshelf against the wall made of the same wood and stain as the room's molding. The back of the bookshelf was deeper than the average and the books seemed to stand without bookends in the center of the large shelves. The shelves had downward facing puck lights and maroon patterned felt that covered the back panels. Primitive art sculptures were placed randomly in the cells without books. Claire skimmed over her collection and noticed she had a taste for some really good books; Flowers for Algernon, Moby Dick, A Tale of Two Cities among other classics. In another shelf she read A Joyless Economy and other less fun, nonfiction titles.

What caught her attention was a large, dark green book that seemed very old. It had no markings on it at all. The trim was an intricate pattern of woven leaves in a lighter green color. Did she know this book?

Noises from the kitchen snapped her attention back to the present. Claire shook her head refocusing on the current situation. She couldn't afford to drift off in a daydream, that was the kind of stupidity that got agents killed.

She turned her attention back to the café stools. Lifting herself, she turned and sat down.

She placed the cumbersome briefcase awkwardly in her lap. She couldn't let the stupid thing touch the chair. The rivets would scrape the chair arms leaving permanent gouges. They weren't actually rivets. They were gas nozzles that could emit sleeping gas if she were to be attacked. The handcuff around her wrist would inject her with the antitoxin and she could walk away without anyone getting hurt. Claire had never used this feature until last night and what a night it was. As uncomfortable as it was sitting awkwardly with the giant metal contraption on her lap, she was sitting in a quiet pleasant room and nobody was attempting to rape her.

Claire could hear Samara humming to herself in the kitchen. She heard the clanking of china and silverware, the running of water, and other random kitchen noises. It caused her to think back to similar sounds that she remembered coming from the restaurant kitchen last night.

* * * * *

She drifted back to the Italian restaurant. It was 9:35pm Saturday. Claire had flown in the day before her meeting with Samara to make her Seedco transaction. Shortly after she picked up her rental car, she had found this little Italian place and sat down to eat.

She was in the middle of her pasta when she noticed two men at the bar had been glancing her way a little too often. They were trying to blend in, making off the cuff comments on the football game that was on the bar television.

In high contrast to these two idiots, Claire actually was watching the game and nothing they were saying was remotely accurate. She also wore high tech sunglasses that hid her eye movement and actually enhanced the dark areas of the restaurant's interior. She could see them way better than they could see her.

She had no idea who these two chuckleheads were but she assumed someone from one of the Christian fundamentalist groups had received a report from a concerned citizen and dispatched the last two idiots that were available from their militia to investigate. This happened more often than anyone cared to admit. (There were certain radical Christian groups that had established a well funded base of operations in every major city in the world. None of it was legal. It had become like a worldwide spy vs. spy war but only the religious zealots were doing the killing. They would have you put down if they had any proof you had the bonding done or worse...that you were selling them. Public displays were made of the tortured bodies of the Devil's Seeders.)The average concerned religious citizen would make the phone call if they ever witnessed a human with the alien plant augment that resulted from eating one of the so-called "Demon Seeds."